


The Shape of Things.

by PatPrecieux



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, No baby., Romantic Fluff, Sherlock's Mind Palace, Song Lyrics, Touch of angst in the Mind Palace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-18 01:04:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16107542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatPrecieux/pseuds/PatPrecieux
Summary: Sherlock comes home to a domestic John and it sends him deep into the vault of his Mind Palace. Math and Science- meet Sherlock's heart.





	The Shape of Things.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lockedinjohnlock (Podfixx)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Podfixx/gifts).



> It all began with a song.

Bounding up the stairs, black bag containing the ice packed cancerous scrotum swinging loosely from his fingers, Sherlock was determined to demand John's immediate attention, adoration and apology. Imagine the cheek of choosing to remain in the flat to "tidy" as John had condescendingly phrased it, rather than following Sherlock like a good little blogger on the jaunt to the morgue.

 

"Sorry, love, think I prefer five days worth of food encrusted dishes to a cab ride to pick up some poor sod's bits and bobs.", John had said with a wink and smile that had done nothing to reduce Sherlock's irritation.

 

Now flouncing in the door, he would make John pay for abandoning him! Except, there stood John elbows deep in soapy water scrubbing away at what might have been an unfortunate combination of dried honey and egg yolk on a plate, his head bobbing rhythmically to the sounds of some song on the radio. The sun permeated the flat and made John's silver blonde hair shine like a royal crown. 

 

Mesmerized as he was, Sherlock wasn't ready to surrender the perfectly good strop he had worked so hard to nurture. Still, he silently moved to the small "body parts" fridge that had been an acceptable compromise after the spleen in the spaghetti incident, and placed the bag on a shelf. Sniffing haughtily to, needlessly, announce his presence, Sherlock waited for a reaction.

 

"Hello, you. Get your latest diseased accessory home safe and sound?"

 

"Really John. You make it sound as if I've been shopping for socks or new pants. It's for an experiment."

 

"Whatever you say, sweetheart. However, I'll thank you NOT to mention your pants in conjunction with what you carried home from Molly's grab bag of organs. Make us a cuppa, sit down and relax. Listen to the radio with me and I'll be done here in no time."

 

Despite his continued aggravation, Sherlock made the tea and reclined on the couch accepting that once John entered "domestic mode" he would not be deterred until the task was done. The radio droned on and now John was humming along, his clear pure tenor rising above the sound of the water running in the sink as John rinsed the dishes.

 

Sherlock never really paid attention to John's pedestrian taste in "golden oldies" pop music, and staunchly refused to learn the names of his favorite bands like that ridiculous Hooter and the Goldfish- or something like that. For some reason though, boredom or, horrors, curiosity, Sherlock actually acknowledged the song currently playing and the lyrics.

 

** "The future's coming on sweet and strong and no one's gonna hold it back for long.

There are new dreams crowding out old realities, there's a revolution sweeping in like a fresh new breeze,  
Let the old world make believe it's blind and deaf and dumb, but nothing can change the shape of things to come." **

 

Hmm. Intriguing, Sherlock thought. One of his objections to "modern" music was its fecklessness. But this was another matter. A treatise on the correlation between the progression of the world in mathematical terms- shapes. He knew better than to posit such an academic idea to John who was undoubtedly awash in sentiment at the moment. So, assuming his usual position, fingers steepled and eyes closed, Sherlock descended down into the corridors of his Mind Palace.

 

Strangely, his contemplation of the effect of shape upon life seemed to have carried him back to primary school days as the shapes danced before his eyes in the vibrant colors he had learned at Mummy's knee.

 

First came the triangles. One a cheery shade of blue, not unlike John's eyes. The points occupied by Mike Stamford, John and himself. That had been the beginning. The next, that frankly alarming shade of pink, comprised of George Lestrade, John and again himself. A warm brown, the color of tea and biscuits connected the two of them to Mrs. Hudson. Deep green, the green of envy, adorned the shape completed by Irene Adler. And lastly two triangles of inky black. One held together at the third point by the insufferable Mycroft and the other- damn! "Get out of my head Moriarty you're dead! Leave me the fuck alone!!" His mind swiftly swept the triangles away into oblivion.

 

There was only one rectangle in a shade of grey, he and John comprised the shorter legs being pushed further apart by the longer sections representing Mary, now gone, and the baby, not real. It faded from sight like the withering lie upon which it had been built.

 

Two squares appeared. One a willowy peach, at its corners Sherlock, John, Molly and oddly Wiggins. Sherlock supposed this was a reflection of the sadly never to be dreams of the pathologist and the false but alluring escape offered by the drugs. The second a blood red- John, Sherlock, Mycroft and, Jesus- Eurus. Not content to simply dismiss these, his mind shattered them into a million pieces never to reassemble again to create chaos or pain. 

 

From there the images came fast and numerous. A mauve pentagon with Mummy, Father, Mycroft, Eurus and him with his violin.

 

A peppermint striped hexagon with Molly, Gordon, Hudders, him, John and insert any number of obscure girlfriends names here. Holidays, both hateful and heartwarming.

 

A bright yellow octagon with Greg, yeah it was Greg, Molly, Hudders, John, Sally and Anderson who had become friends of a sort after his "return", himself and again Irene or at least that shitty moaning text alert of hers.

 

Finally there were so many shapes, of ever expanding sides, complex structures built of new friends, evil villains, new experiences, old regrets and the unknown future. A kaleidoscope of colors- swirling, ebbing, flowing and finally overwhelming him. Sherlock was aware of his increased heart rate, respiration and anxiety. He ran down the passageway to the solid door with the gleaming plaque that bore a single word- "John", and fell over the threshold to grab his anchor, his strength, his everything.

 

Inside, two shapes floated side by side on the air, their color indistinguishable save for the incandescent rays of tangible warmth that radiated from them straight into Sherlock's soul. An oval, where he and John had come together again, not quite perfect as shapes go, but joined, a continuous arc. The larger of the two, and the brighter, a circle- unblemished, and a never ending representation of where they were now. So intertwined that there is no beginning or end, no line to separate one from the other. They are SherlockJohn, JohnSherlock, a single living entity. Different in many ways, but indestructibly the same in the one thing that mattered most, their love for one another.

 

Entranced by the vision, Sherlock scarcely felt John gently shaking his shoulder and playfully tapping a knuckle on the top of his curls.

 

"Hello, hello, is this thing on? Sherlock? Hell-oooo."

 

"What, John, is something...what's...?"

 

"There you are. Couldn't stand my cleaning so you decided to create a mess in your Mind Palace did you?", he said with unbridled affection.

 

"I'll have you know I was engaged in a fascinating review of...", his voice trailed off.

 

"Well what's this great investigation concerning, then?"

 

Sherlock cleared his throat and swallowed, "Geometry."

 

"Geometry?", John's shoulders slumped.

 

"Yes, John. Geometry, surely even you must know- shapes and their interactions in the..."

 

"I KNOW what geometry is, you berk, but I WAS feeling rather horny and geometry is most decidedly NOT sexy."

 

Sherlock sat up and stood, invading John's space. How can you say that John? When we have 69, and IF you play your cards right it might be soon, we form a reasonable facsimile of an oval. And when you roger me..."

 

"Roger? Oh you silver tongued devil."

 

"When you DO, and after that snide remark you may have lost your chance, it is a passable circle."

 

John let loose with a loud snort, "More like a trapezoid, I reckon."

 

Sherlock smirked, "Or a parallelogram on a day when you're feeling particularly flexible."

 

This resulted in a fit of giggles for both that had them dissolved into teary hiccups of mirth.

 

"Therefore, if you are amenable, perhaps we could put my expertise in geometry..."

 

"And my military training."

 

Feeling his cheeks flame with heat, Sherlock continued, "Yes, if you must; shall we see how we might 'study' together?"

 

Giving Sherlock a sharp smack on the arse, John laughed, "Sounds a plan, after you professor. Hang on though, what about those testicles waiting for you.?"

 

"I'm more interested in YOUR testicles, and other parts that are waiting for me." So saying he proceeded to kiss the breath out of his doctor.

 

Grinning like a predator on the hunt, John purred, "Not complaining, you understand, but what brought this on?"

 

"Your hot self, and your not always terrible taste in music. I'll explain later. For now, I desperately want to do the math with you."

 

"Let me see, geometry. I can shape you up, bend you out of shape or whip you into shape. What's your pleasure, beautiful?"

 

Grabbing John by both hands and literally hauling him towards their bed, Sherlock huffed, "Whatever you choose Captain. Feeling adventurous? What are your thoughts about an infinity sign?"

 

"The way I feel about us, Sherlock- together forever, and that's the shape of things."

**Author's Note:**

> **The Shape of Things to Come written by Brian Craddock/Robert Michael Peloni**
> 
> With thanks and praise to the incomparable Lockedinjohnlock whose podfics have given me days of enjoyment and awakened my Muse after a month long sleep.
> 
> To all: as we enter Autumn OR Spring in your case Locky, may things "shape up" just the way you like them. ❤️❤️ Pat


End file.
